


All Their Secret Songs

by Nebula5030



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (Cause the Purge ;-;), Angst with a Happy Ending, Balinor Lives, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragonlord Gwaine, Dragonlords, Episode: s02e13 The Last Dragonlord, Episode: s04e04 Aithusa, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Genocide, M/M, Mentioned/Background Arthur/Gwen, Minor Character Death, episode rewrite, language warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 10:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebula5030/pseuds/Nebula5030
Summary: “Not much of a talker, eh?” Gwaine shrugged, and Balinor hoped he would take the hint. But then Gwaine lifted a hand and called over a barmaid. “Two pints please, one for me and my new friend.”Balinor growled in exasperation.“<I hope the dragons use your bones as toothpicks,>”he muttered under his breath.Gwaine frowned. “Well, that wasn’t very nice.”Uther thought he had wiped out all the Dragonlords during the Purge.But sometimes they pop up in the most unexpected of places.





	All Their Secret Songs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittensTinyMittens (Onasariel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onasariel/gifts).

> Hey, Mittens,  
I WROTE YOU DRAGONLORD GWAINE :DDDD because we just keep enabling each other with all of our many hypothetical AUs asdskl;fjas;dlkjfa;klsdf;kljasdf  
Anyways, I hope you enjoy this :D  
<s>Even if it grew to this monster of a fic. How could I have thought that this whole thing would only be 10k al;kdfj;kljsdfj;klsdf</s>
> 
> Written for the [Merlin Rarepair Swap](https://merlin-rarepair-swap.tumblr.com/).  
And thank you to [Lion_owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lion_owl/pseuds/Lion_owl) for the beta read and for running this fest! 💖
> 
> Quick Note: Text written within <...> _"<Here is an example,>"_ is used to denote speech spoken in Dragontongue
> 
> ~
> 
> _Bare your tiny teeth, my child_  
_The sun will fall in love with you_  
_And teach you how to sting and roar_  
_And sing and kill, as fathers do._
> 
> _Turn your prayer to sky and sand_  
_No matter where you fall_  
_May the desert echoes teach you_  
_All their secret songs_ \-- _Manticore's Lullaby,_ SJ Tucker

“Uther’s gone mad. To ban _all _magic? He is dooming his kingdom to ruin.”

Caerleon let out a breath. “We’ve discussed this, Sir Loth,” he said, looking up from one of the numerous charts laid out in front of him to see his Dragonlord across from him, the two of them alone in the council chambers and each examining a map marking a different spot where Uther’s men had wreaked havoc in their land – a different spot marking tragedy. “You’ve made your opinion very well known over the last eight months.”

Loth glanced up, brown eyes flashing. “That doesn’t mean I’m any less wrong.”

“It doesn’t,” Caerleon conceded. “But we cannot afford to be rash with our actions.”

“He is _pushing our borders._ Look here, sire,” Loth started, grabbing one map from the bottom and smacking it to the top. He aggressively pointed to a red mark. “You saw this for yourself. He followed a simple hedge witch – a healer! – into our land before _slaughtering_ her. We cannot let this pass without riposte! He’s already shown he doesn’t give a damn about our borders – ours or anyone else’s.”

“I’m aware,” Caerleon responded. He let out another low breath. “… he has to written me – he is ready to strike a deal to leave us in peace if I agree not to interfere.”

He glanced at Loth, before looking away again, his heart sinking.

_A_ _nd if I give him one thing in return._

Loth’s head jerked up. _“__<__By the dragons.__>_ You’re not seriously considering it are you?”

“Camelot is a strong kingdom,” Caerleon responded, not meeting Loth’s gaze. “To be against him would destroy us.”

Loth’s fist slammed on the table. “That is unacceptable! We cannot bend to his demands! He is _slaughtering_ people! The Druids, the High Priestesses! _Children,_ Caerleon. He’s killing them _all. __He’s already killed Anna’s brother.”_

“I know,” Caerleon responded. He finally looked up and met Loth’s eyes. “And I’m sorry about your brother-in-law, but what would you have me do?”

“Offer them sanctuary!” Loth exclaimed. “Give them somewhere to go! If we open our borders to them, they will stand with us against him.”

“And what good will that do?” Caerleon retorted. “You said so yourself, Loth. He’s killed High Priestesses, sorcerers. He’s killed _dragons.”_

A dark expression came to Loth’s face. “Don’t think I don’t know that,” he growled. “I am more aware of that than _anyone_ here – you can’t feel their pain. I haven’t slept in _eight months_ because _every night_ I can feel their fear and grief over their kin. The air is thick with it – it’s _ suffocating.” _

Loth glared at Caerleon for a moment. The king said nothing.

But then Loth let out a low breath and turned around. He leaned against the table and ran a hand over his face, before lowering it and shaking his head. “All of _magic_ is grieving. I can feel it. … They say he’s burning so many people that there is a constant cloud of darkness above Camelot. That they haven’t seen the sky in eight months.” Loth looked up to his king then, imploring. “How can you consider the demands of a man like that?

“And what of my son?” Loth continued, straightening and turning to him. Desperation flashed across Loth’s face. “You’ve seen him – he’s only a wee babe. But if Uther finds out about him, he _will kill him._ You know this just as well as I do.”

Caerleon stiffened.

He wasn’t sure if he was grateful Loth hadn’t noticed.

Caerleon swallowed. He looked up. “Where is your family now?” he asked.

Loth let out a low breath. “… I’ve sent them home,” Loth answered. “My estate is west – it’s further from Camelot than here. I hope that…should Uther come here… it’ll give them a chance to flee before he finds them.”

Caerleon felt a bit of relief run over him. But it was quickly followed by shame.

He had no right to be relieved. Not now.

Loth’s hand had migrated up to his collarbone, but then he jerkily lowered it down. It was a nervous habit of his – whenever he had something pressing on his mind, he always and played with the silver charm around his neck. Caerleon expected that Loth was about to do it again.

Caerleon blinked.

Loth’s neck was bare.

“Where’s your necklace?”

“I gave it to Anna,” Loth answered, pushing several maps aside as he dug through them, probably not even looking for something, but just finding something for his hands to do. He stopped, took in a breath, and looked up. His expression was pained. “Just in… just in case I don’t see her again.”

Caerleon’s heart skipped a beat.

“… what makes you say that?” he asked.

“… you never know what may happen. Especially now. I only… I only wanted to make sure she had something,” he let out a small laugh. “It’s laughable, I know -”

“No,” Caerleon assured him, turning away once more. “No, it’s not.”

They fell into a heavy silence then, Loth flicking between maps and examining them with a dark look. Caerleon didn’t move, still not looking to Loth.

Loth let out a low breath after several minutes of silence. “There are so many…” he murmured, barely above a breath. “I worry soon we won’t be able to stop him.”

“… what of your kin?” Caerleon asked. “The other Dragonlords. Do you truly believe that if I were to give them place here, they would stand by me against Uther?”

Loth looked up. His gaze softened. He walked over to Caerleon and put his hand to his shoulder. “They would,” Loth assured him. “I know you’re scared, sire. Even if you can never admit it. But you won’t be alone if you stand against Uther and his tyranny. Take a stand – others will follow.”

Caerleon’s eyes flicked between Loth’s brown ones. Loth looked so _sure;_ he believed what he was saying with every fiber of his being.

And perhaps what he was saying _was_ true, but…

Caerleon let out another low breath, his heart plunging. “… it’s too late,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do now.”

Loth’s expression became confused. “Sire? What? What do you mean-?”

There was a bang from the other side of the room.

Loth turned to the doors that had just slammed open.

His eyes widened in horror.

_ “Uther.”_

Loth had never actually met the king of Camelot, but he’d encountered enough of his knights to immediately recognize the scarlet cape and golden dragon (and wasn’t such a thing only hypocritical now?) they wore.

But only one of them would ever dare to wear a crown.

Uther strode forward, a contingency of knights behind him, their red cloaks a bright stain against the stone of Caerleon’s castle and their steps echoing through the hollow hall.

Loth moved to grab his sword.

“Loth,” Caerleon started shortly. Loth stopped. “Don’t.”

Loth stared at Caerleon for a moment, then back up Uther who was still approaching.

He turned to Caerleon once more, expression still that of horrified disbelief.

“Sire-?”

Caerleon finally looked up_. _ He looked _defeated._

“I’m sorry, Loth.”

Loth’s eyes widened further. He looked so _shocked – “My lord -”_

It was then Uther stopped, mere feet away from them.

Uther looked over Loth with a closed-off expression. “Is this him?”

“Yes,” Caerleon responded, voice low and not lifting his head. “This is my Dragonlord.”

Uther smirked in self-satisfaction, still looking over Loth as if he had just won a tournament.

Loth’s veins filled with ice.

Uther turned to his knights. “Take him,” he ordered. “He is to be brought back to Camelot to be executed with the rest of his disgusting kind.”

Uther’s knights moved forward.

Loth stepped back, a hand to his sword. _“No!”_

He had begun to unsheathe it, but the knights of Camelot lunged forward, seizing his arms and stopping him from withdrawing it. They grabbed him where they could – his arms, his hair – and began to pull him across the room.

_“Let go of me, you _ _<dragon feed!>”_

“A feisty one, isn’t he?” Uther commented, almost idly.

They dragged him across the council room, Loth struggling and fighting against them every step. But there were too many for him to fight back against alone – and he couldn’t stop them from pulling him to the doors.

Loth looked back, and his brown eyes met Caerleon’s gaze.

“You’re a _coward,_ Caerleon!”

Loth disappeared through the doors.

Uther tsked, before marching after his knights.

Caerleon followed.

The hallways were empty – it seemed Caerleon’s orders to keep them clear had been followed – and he said nothing as he watched Uther’s men drag a struggling Loth out the front doors of the castle and into the courtyard.

There was a cart waiting, a caged one with runes and sigils all along the bars, and a guard already opening the door.

Loth’s eyes widened again.

But then his jaw clenched in anger and determination.

Loth twisted, pulling one knight down and throwing him over his shoulder and into another.

His arm free, Loth turned to another and struck him in the jaw, even following through with his arm and landing a second blow with his elbow and striking him to the ground.

He palmed the last knight in the chin, sending him reeling backwards.

Loth’s gaze landed on Uther.

Loth sneered, the most enraged Caerleon had ever seen him.

Loth lunged at Uther, a spell of desperation on his lips -

Uther ran Loth through.

Caerleon flinched away, but he knew that he would never be rid of that image.

The image of Loth before him, a blood-stained blade protruding from his back and the cloak he wore of Caerleon’s colors.

Loth took in a choked gasp, lifting his head to face Uther once more.

But then he collapsed, slumping over Uther’s arm.

Uther tsked, before withdrawing his sword.

Loth fell to his knees.

Then to the ground, a small cloud of dust rising around him when he landed.

He didn’t move again.

Uther scowled at Loth’s body, before letting out an annoyed sigh. “Clean this up,” he ordered to his men as he wiped his blade on Loth’s cape. “We promised Caerleon we would take him, dead or alive, after all.”

With a chorus of “yes, sire,” from Uther’s men, they stepped forward, and unceremoniously picked up Loth’s body and dumped it in their cart. Uther only gave them a cursory glance, before striding towards Caerleon once more.

The damn bastard looked _smug._

Caerleon only glared at him.

“I am sorry you had to see that,” Uther said, pointedly ignoring Caerleon’s glare. “But I do thank you for not interfering.”

“I gave you my word,” Caerleon growled. “Now I expect you to keep yours. Leave here along with your men and _never return. _ And you will no longer cross the border in pursuit of your vengeance.”

Uther huffed. “Yes, if you’re so desperate to give home to them I see no reason why I should stop you.” He turned towards his men and took a couple of steps, ordering them to ready themselves to leave.

Caerleon turned, he himself moving to return inside.

“Ah. One more thing,” Uther’s voice spoke up.

Caerleon stopped. He turned to Uther.

Uther spoke. “Your Dragonlord. He had no family, correct? No children? Camelot’s recent records of the Dragonlord Clans are… incomplete, at the moment.”

Caerleon didn’t move. The mention of Loth’s family had immediately brought Anna’s face to his mind, her kind eyes and loud laughter.

And how only a month before, he had gone to the physician’s ward and found Anna in the patient’s bed, Loth next to her as he held a newborn baby in his arms and the two of them smiling at him.

He had looked up at Caerleon then, his expression one of pure joy.

_“I want you to meet my son, my lord. _ _We’ve named him Gwaine_ _…”_

Caerleon lifted his eyes and met Uther’s gaze. “No,” he said. “Loth had no children; he wasn’t married.”

Uther looked over Caerleon for a moment, but then he nodded. “Good. We don’t need any more of their kind running around.”

And with that, Uther finally turned back to his men. He walked towards his horse and mounted, before turning to Caerleon once more, still with that smug satisfied grin.

“Good day, Caerleon.”

_“__Get out,”_ Caerleon growled.

Uther smirked. He tipped his head, before turning his horse forward and leaving the courtyard with his men.

Taking Loth’s body with them.

~

Anna arrived at the castle three days later.

Caerleon had sent a messenger to her after Uther left, only giving the message that it was urgent, and that she should arrive as soon as she was able.

He met her in the throne room. No one else was there, not even Queen Annis.

His wife hadn’t spoken to him once since she learned of what he had done.

Anna entered the throne room slowly, pushing open the great oaken doors herself. No one was with her, her footsteps the only sound as she approached the throne.

She looked tired and dirty – the result of her travel to get to the city, he guessed – her soft yellow dress matching the yellow pin she had in her brunette hair.

She seemed dwarved by the great room.

And sure enough, she now wore a silver charm around her neck.

Caerleon’s heart clenched at the sight of it.

Caerleon swallowed, and he straightened in his throne. “Lady Anna,” Caerleon greeted as she curtsied. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Anna glanced around once more. Already she looked scared. “My lord, where is Loth?”

Caerleon let out a low breath. “Sir Loth is dead.”

Anna’s hand smacked over her mouth. Her eyes grew wide. _“No.”_

He almost couldn’t bear to look at her. Caerleon closed his eyes. “I’m afraid it’s true.”

For a minute neither of them spoke, Anna keeping a hand tight over her mouth and trying to regulate her breathing, and Caerleon not able to look her in the eye.

But then she took in a deep, shaking breath. She lowered her hand and straightened.

_“_ _How?”_ Anna demanded, her voice shaking despite her obvious attempt to keep it steady.

“… he died fighting,” Caerleon said, looking up. “Just as he lived; fighting for what he believed was right.”

He wouldn’t tell her the truth – Anna may have been a noblewoman, but Caerleon knew she was never afraid to get her own hands dirty. If she knew it was Uther who had killed Loth, Caerleon would not have been surprised if the next news he heard out of Camelot was that she had been executed trying to kill him herself.

And who would bat an eye? She would simply be another noblewoman among the many others who had been killed within the last eight months.

No one would even notice.

Anna nodded to herself, expression still clouded with grief, but Caerleon could already tell she was planning what to do – what steps to take next now even if it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her.

How to care for their son now that the love of her life was gone.

“I expect you’ll ask us to return? My son should have his powers now -”

“I can’t,” Caerleon interrupted shortly. If Uther found out – If he learned about Anna and her son and that Caerleon lied to him – “… from now on my kingdom will no longer give home to Dragonlords.”

Anna didn’t move. _“What?”_

“I no longer require the service of a Dragonlord. I see no reason to keep you or your son here anymore.”

Anna stuttered for a moment before she found her voice. “My lord, my son’s only a _month old -”_

“And by the time he’s old enough to be of use, all of the dragons will be dead,” Caerleon couldn’t help but snap. “Uther Pendragon has already killed most of them. I imagine it’s only a matter of time until the rest of them are gone.”

“So you’re turning us away?”

“Yes,” Caerleon said, forcing his voice to stay steady for that single word

Anna blinked, aghast.

But then her face twisted into anger.

“My husband served you – he _died_ for you! And yet you deny him in death,” Anna sneered. She glared him down, gaze alight in fury, before she turned on her heel and made her way to the door.

“… where will you go?” Caerleon called.

“As if you care,” Anna growled, but even he could hear her voice was thick with tears. “My husband dies fighting for you then you turn us away.”

She took in a shaking breath. Then she turned to look over at Caerleon, expression full of rage and anger.

_“I hope you _ _suffer for this_ _, Caerleon.”_

The door slammed shut behind her.

Caerleon stared after the door for several moments – the silence of the throne room closing in on him in a way it never had before – before he let out a low breath.

He leaned forward and held his head in his hands.

_“Forgive me.”_

~

TWENTY-ONE YEARS LATER

It wasn’t often that Balinor made his way down to the town of Engerd, but there were times when he found that he needed more supplies, or to simply have something fresher to eat than meat he had smoked last month.

He was surveying the room – Engerd didn’t have much in terms of travelers, but occasionally someone would come through on their travels or trade routes. Balinor never interacted with anyone more than politeness required, but he tried to listen to these people when they spoke – always secretly hoping that one of them would be carrying news of Uther’s untimely death.

Unfortunately, no news of the kind seemed to be circling the tavern tonight.

And so his mind wandered to where it always did when nothing else was there to occupy it.

Hunith.

It seemed he could never forget her, even though it had been nearly twenty years since he’d been forced to leave her in the darkness of night.

… he wondered if she was okay. If she was happy.

He wanted nothing more.

Balinor was taking a sip from his pint – he was about two-thirds of the way finished now, and contemplating buying a second – when the door opened and a young man strode in.

Balinor’s interest piqued. He was new.

The young man was pale, with brown hair to his shoulders and a short facial hair across his jaw and upper lip. He was looking around the tavern, one hand resting on a bag at his side.

He turned.

Sheathed underneath the bag, he had a sword. Interesting.

The man, seemingly satisfied with what he saw, began to walk forward.

And Balinor was suddenly struck by a sense of familiarity, so strong that he jolted in his seat.

But… there was no possible way he had met that man before.

Balinor’s eyes narrowed.

There was something about him -

Then he met the young man’s brown eyes.

Balinor quickly turned his gaze away, pretending that he was only looking over the room just as he had been. He looked to his drink as if examining how much was left.

Head down, but eyes still towards the newcomer.

The man was still looking at Balinor. His expression turned more thoughtful, but then he smirked a bit, and he began to make his way to the corner of the room where Balinor sat.

Oh _no._

“You look lonely. Mind if I join you?”

“Yes,” Balinor responded coolly as the stranger slid into the chair opposite him, not even giving a moment’s notice to Balinor’s response.

The young man – barely more than a boy, really, despite the facial hair trying to convince people otherwise – only grinned. “Name’s Gwaine. Pleasure to meet you. Might I have yours?”

Balinor’s eyes narrowed.

“Not much of a talker, eh?” Gwaine shrugged, and Balinor hoped he would take the hint. But then Gwaine lifted a hand and called over a barmaid. “Two pints please, one for me and my new friend.”

Balinor growled in exasperation. _“__<I hope the dragons use your bones as toothpicks,>”_ he muttered under his breath.

Gwaine frowned. “Well, that wasn’t very nice.”

Balinor huffed in amusement -

But then he froze.

His head snapped up, wide eyes coming to a rest on Gwaine.

Gwaine’s expression turned to confusion and concern. “What?”

Balinor blinked again. _“<Can you understand me?>”_

Gwaine’s expression became more puzzled. “What kind of question-?”

_“<I said,>”_ Balinor started, leaning forward and enunciating as clearly as he could, _ “<Can you understand me?>”_

“Yeah of course I can understand you,” Gwaine answered, looking even more puzzled.

Balinor’s heart began to race. Gwaine could understand him. Gwaine could understand Dragontongue. Could he be a Dragonlord? Was this stranger who just happened to sit by him another Dragonlord?

Gwaine was young – too young for Balinor to have known him before the Terrible Purge. He might have been born in time for the last Gathering of the Dragons, but Balinor couldn’t recall any babes being there. But the other Dragonlords… that must be it.

Gwaine must be one of their sons.

But who’s? _Who’s?_

And Balinor spotted the silver charm hanging around Gwaine’s neck.

Balinor took in a short breath, before looking to Gwaine’s face once more. And it all _clicked._

Loth had been a part of one of the other Dragonlord Clans, and was a handful of years older than Balinor. They hadn’t seen each other very often, but Loth was always loud and could easily make himself the center of attention in any group.

Balinor had only met Anna, Loth’s wife, once – at the last Gathering of the Dragons –, but looking over Gwaine once more, he could see that he took after her: the shape of his face, his hair.

His build and his eyes, however, were just like Loth’s.

“You’re Loth’s boy.”

Gwaine’s expression fell to shock. Then his eyes narrowed in angry suspicion. “How do you know that? _How do you know my father?”_

Balinor let out a small breath. He glanced around the tavern for just a moment, and satisfied no one could hear, he leaned in towards Gwaine.

“I’m a Dragonlord.”

Balinor expected Gwaine’s eyes to widen in understanding – to suddenly have everything explained. But to his surprise, Gwaine looked so taken aback by that that some of the anger faded, leaving him with an expression only of confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Balinor recoiled as if struck. What does that have to do-?

But then his stomach dropped.

_“__You don’t know, do you, __boy__?” _he asked, breathless.

That had to be it. What else would explain the confusion over being able to understand Balinor or the blank reaction upon being told who Balinor was?

“Your father was a Dragonlord,” Balinor said. “And if you can understand me… that means you are one, now, too.”

Gwaine blinked. He didn’t move.

But then Gwaine barked a laugh, but even then Balinor thought it sounded nervous.

“Oh. _Oh,_ I get it. You’re trying to swindle me for money, is that it? You pull this a lot?”

“Is that what you think this is?” Balinor responded, the edge of a growl in his throat. “How else would I know your father?”

“There’s a lot of things that can’t be explained,” Gwaine retorted. “I’m no stranger to magic. This is probably just some form of mind reading spell.”

“I assure you it’s not,” Balinor responded. “What would I have to gain by lying about who you are?”

Gwaine scoffed. He shook his head. “I’m done with this. I’m leaving,” Gwaine said shortly, as he quickly stood from his chair and began to rush to the door

_“__<Then how can you understand me?>”_ Balinor snapped, rising in his chair.

Gwaine stopped.

His head jerkily turned a bit towards Balinor once more.

But then without a word, Gwaine took off again, shoving himself through the door and into the night.

The door shut sharply behind him.

Balinor frowned after Gwaine, staring at the door as it bounced against the frame.

Should he follow after him? Explain himself and hope Gwaine would listen?

But with a low breath, Balinor lowered himself down. That wouldn’t do. If Gwaine wanted to know more, he knew where to find him. And if he didn’t believe Balinor… well, there wasn’t much to be done about it anyway.

He saw movement at the other side of the room.

He glanced to the side.

There were two men standing out the counter, the two of them also staring at the door. No one had left or come in since Gwaine left, and they looked as if they were waiting to see if anyone would.

One nudged the other with his elbow, and hurriedly whispered something to his companion.

The companion grinned. He nodded, and the tavern filled with the sound of their chairs scraping against the floor as they stood. They headed for the door.

Smoothly and in a clearly practised motion, three more men stood up after them and followed, and they all headed to the door and swept through, less than a minute after Gwaine left.

Balinor’s eyes narrowed. It didn’t take magic to read their intentions.

But… Gwaine had a sword, perhaps he could -

Then a glint of metal caught Balinor’s eye.

He turned back to the chair across from him.

And he took in a sharp breath.

There was a sword leaning against the chair across from him – the same sword that Gwaine had had on him when he’d arrived.

Gwaine must have rested it there when he sat down.

He must have forgotten it when he left in his hurry.

Maybe if he had the sword, Gwaine would be able to handle the thugs on his own.

But the fact he left his main weapon -

His mind made up, Balinor stood. He didn’t slow even as he tossed a handful of coins in the table before grabbing the sword and following after them.

He had a sword to return, after all.

~

Gwaine didn’t stop until he was in the forest once more.

He took in several deep breaths, both to regain it after his hasty exit and to calm the mix of emotions in him.

Gwaine had hoped to stay the night at the inn, actually have somewhere warm to sleep for once, but…

He sighed, his hand already at his necklace and rubbing his thumb along the silver charm.

Finding someone who knew his father and the truth of his parentage – especially so far from Caerleon – that was new.

Finding someone who claimed to be a _Dragonlord,_ and that Gwaine’s father – and by extension, _Gwaine__ himself__ –_ was too? That was so far out of the realm of what Gwaine had thought possible that he was still having a hard time believing it had happened.

… but something in his gut told him that the Dragonlord hadn’t been lying.

And his gut was usually right.

He heard a crack behind him.

Gwaine swiveled back.

Five men were there, standing on the path just behind him.

He thought he recognized a couple from his quick survey of the tavern.

Gwaine let out an irritated breath. _“Dammit,”_ he muttered. Imagine, the _one time_ he doesn’t check to make sure he wasn’t followed he _was._ But Gwaine took in a breath and straightened, before looking at them with a grin. “Evening, gentlemen,” he began. “Can I help you with something?”

One of the men stepped forward. He grinned, gaps of black between his yellowing teeth. “I’m sure you can,” he began. He pulled a knife from his belt.

“Hey, hey, now,” Gwaine started, hands up and placating, yet already examining the thugs and planning how best to deal with them. “I’m sure there’s no need to get violent.”

Two? Easily dealt with. Three? Bit more difficult, but Gwaine’s had worse odds. Four? Maybe pushing it a bit, but not impossible.

Five, however? Well, let’s just say Gwaine was starting to reconsider his chances.

The one in front spoke once more. “I want some money.”

Gwaine probably shouldn’t have scoffed in apparent amusement, but he couldn’t help himself. “You and me both,” he answered.

The thug’s grin – if you could even call it that – fell to an annoyed sneer. “You think you’re funny, dontcha?”

Gwaine shrugged. “I try,” he responded

The thug lunged forward, a fist at the ready -

Gwaine’s punch landed on the thug’s face.

Some might have considered his techniques _dirty,_ but he would argue that he only used them when the other person started the fight – and that was dirty enough already. So who could blame him?

The thug stumbled backwards, before he looked up, face in a sneer and blood running from his nose. _“__Why you little -”_ he started, his buddies already stepping forward.

Gwaine’s hands snapped to his sword.

Or, at least where his sword _should have been._

His hands closed around empty air.

He looked to his side in shock.

His sword was gone.

And suddenly he remembered: resting it at the side of his chair as he’d sat at the table across from the Dragonlord.

He’d left in such a hurry he’d forgotten to grab it.

And Gwaine knew any chance of resolving this without blows had disappeared about three quips ago.

Gwaine shut his eyes and let out a small growl. _“__Me and my big mouth,”_ he muttered in self-deprecation, looking back up to the thugs.

One was approaching now – knife in hand and a sneer on his face.

The thug swung.

Gwaine dodged, ducking cleanly from the blow and shifting to one side. He straightened and grabbed the thug’s shoulders while the thug was still in the follow-through, and Gwaine kneed him in the stomach.

He felt a hand grab the collar of his shirt from behind.  
Gwaine twisted, turning around and landing a hit into one of their abdomens.

He saw a glint of metal.

A quick glance confirmed that one of his assailants had pulled out a knife.

Gwaine grimaced, before moving towards him.

The thug tried to swing, but Gwaine got in close and grabbed his arm, before wrenching it in a way he knew from experience would hurt.

The thug cried out, and he let go of the knife and dropped it to the dirt.

Gwaine felt a fist against his face.

He recoiled backwards, thankfully away from the center of the melee, and had to take a moment to shake his head and clear it.

He looked up towards the thugs again.

There only counted four.

Where was-?

Gwaine felt something catch around his throat.

He was jerked back against a large chest, the pressure increasing around his neck.

The four thugs he could see cheered, and began jeering at him.

Gwaine lifted his hands to his throat, his fingers desperately trying to get between his neck and the cloth tightened around it.

He couldn’t breathe – _he couldn’t breathe -_

The thug holding him grunted suddenly.

The cloth around Gwaine’s neck disappeared.

Gwaine lurched forward with a gasp, pain blooming in his chest with the sudden intake of air but Gwaine never having been more grateful for a breath in his life.

But… what had stopped the thug?

He turned back,

His eyes widened.

It was _the Dragonlord,_ a sword in hand and holding it at the ready, setting himself between Gwaine and the thugs.

Gwaine was so shocked he couldn’t move, only staring with wide eyes.

“Don’t just stand there, boy!” the Dragonlord exclaimed.

Gwaine jerked back to attention.

He grabbed the discarded knife from the ground and moved next to the Dragonlord, wielding it at the ready.

One of the thugs blinked at them.

Then he turned and ran off into the night, yelling something that sounded vaguely to Gwaine like, _“I’m out!”_

One down, four to go, Gwaine supposed.

Two moved for the Dragonlord, and the other two to Gwaine.

The Dragonlord was skilled, Gwaine could tell that, but he was unable to take a moment to see just how skilled he was. His style seemed practised, almost clean compared to the eclectic style Gwaine had created himself after years on the road.

And before long, out of the corner of his eye, Gwaine saw one of the Dragonlord’s attackers running into the night.

Two down, three to go.

The fight continued on, Gwaine dodging and blocking where he could, but unable to take the offensive with two assailants and merely a knife.

But then he found the Dragonlord to his back, both their shoulders heaving as they re-caught their breath and took in their odds.

_“__<On three,>”_ the Dragonlord started, glancing at Gwaine for confirmation and his grip tightening on the sword.

Gwaine blinked. But then he nodded, and pulled his knife up once more.

The thugs’ expression became confused. One of them began to say, “What the -”

_“_ _<One. _ _Two.>_

_ “<Three!>”_

Gwaine and the Dragonlord lurched forward, catching the remaining thugs off guard.

Knife and sword met other knives, and Gwaine couldn’t help feeling satisfied when his knife sliced one of their arms as he moved to the offensive for the first time.

To his side, another one ran into the night.

Of the two that were left, the one with the bleeding arm looked over Gwaine and the Dragonlord once more, before he lunged forward once more.

But not towards Gwaine.

_ “__Let’s go,”_ the thug hissed, grabbing his friend’s arm. Without a word, they too fled into the forest.

A minute passed. Two.

Gwaine kept staring at the place they had gone, chest still heaving as he regained his breath.

“… I think they’re gone,” the Dragonlord began. Gwaine heard the sound of a sword being sheathed. “They’ve learned not to bother us.”

Gwaine didn’t move for a moment, still watching, but then he turned back to the Dragonlord. He looked him over, still wary and assessing, but Gwaine gave a small nod. “Thank you,” he said.

The Dragonlord grunted in response. He held the sword out to him, and it was then Gwaine realized that it was _his_ sword. “Here,” the Dragonlord said, tossing it over. “Don’t want to lose that.”

Gwaine caught it. He blinked, still a bit shocked, at the Dragonlord for a moment longer, before he nodded his thanks and began to reattach it to his belt.

“Who taught you how to fight?” the Dragonlord asked.

“Taught myself,” Gwaine answered as he tightened the knot. “Experience is the best teacher.”

Gwaine pulled the knot tight, before lifting a hand to his face. He touched a thumb to the split on his lip, and couldn’t help the wince that came out. He examined the blood on his thumb for a moment, before letting out a sigh.

He looked up to see the Dragonlord staring at him, expression… _soft,_ of all things.

“We’re close to my dwelling,” the Dragonlord said, stepping that direction. “You can stay with me for the night.”

Gwaine looked up. He looked over the Dragonlord again, brow furling in slight suspicion. “… what do you want in return?”

The Dragonlord paused. “… to talk,” he answered. He turned to look at Gwaine. “And for you to listen.”

Gwaine blinked and nodded slowly. He smirked. “I think I can do that.”

The Dragonlord’s lips twitched into something that was almost a smile. He turned forward, ready to lead Gwaine to his home.

“You never did give me your name.”

He looked back again. “… Balinor,” he answered. “Balinor Ambrosius.”

“Gwaine Annason.”

Balinor was taken aback. “Annason? Not your father’s or your mother’s line? Or even Lothson?”

Gwaine scowled. “I’d rather no one know I’m a noble if I can help it. The fact that you know is already more than I would like. And _she’s_ the one who raised me, not my father.”

Balinor nodded slowly. “I see.”

There wasn’t much more talking as Balinor and Gwaine headed towards Balinor’s home. They walked deeper into the forest, darkness falling around the two of them until Gwaine could hardly see any trees past the ones just to the side of the road.

But Balinor seemed certain of where they were headed, even with just the stars lighting their way. Even when Balinor left the traveled path, he still didn’t falter, and even waited as Gwaine had to take moments to navigate the rougher parts of the route.

But eventually Balinor spoke.

“We’re here.”

Gwaine looked up.

He blinked.

He hadn’t been expecting a _cave._

But Gwaine had certainly slept in worse places, so he wasn’t going to complain.

“You can rest your things there,” Balinor said, nodding towards a ledge in the cave wall. “I’ll light us a fire.”

Gwaine nodded. He took his bag and sword off and set it aside.

When he turned back, Balinor was lowering his hand and the last bits of gold were fading from his eyes.

Gwaine couldn’t help but be surprised. “You have magic.”

“Most Dragonlords do,” Balinor responded. He looked over Gwaine, brow pinched. “Do you not?”

“Not that I’m aware of… though apparently there are several things I don’t know about myself.”

Balinor hummed and he nodded a bit to himself, but then he turned to walk deeper in.

Gwaine took the moment to examine the cave.

It was clear that Balinor had done his best to make this into a _home._ A low table was in the center next to a fire-pit, several furs were piled across from that (Balinor’s sleeping space, Gwaine presumed) and even a couple of bookshelves with scattered carvings and books on them.

Balinor stepped towards the bookcase and grabbed a jar. He pulled it out, examined the label for a moment, before stepping to Gwaine and handing it to him.

“For your injuries,” he explained. “Put it on all of them – even the shallow ones. It’ll help.

Gwaine nodded. And with a low breath he sat down next to the fire and began to rub the salve onto his cuts and bruises.

Balinor said nothing, only taking a seat across the fire from Gwaine and watching the flames as they danced in the pit.

It was several minutes after Gwaine finished treating his injuries and had set the jar aside that he finally broke the silence.

“So… you knew my father?”

“Yes,” Balinor answered. He let out a sigh. “Yes, I knew him.”

Balinor talked long into the night – explaining that Loth was a Dragonlord from one of the other five clans. He talked about how they weren’t family, but whenever Balinor saw Loth every three years at the Gathering of the Dragons, he remembered how he would always have people singing songs by the end of the night, and how he always wore a necklace – the same necklace Gwaine now wore around his neck.

“… I don’t know how he died,” Balinor said. “I only know that when Uther betrayed me, he told me that I was the last one. That he had successfully killed all of the other Dragonlords. He even showed me the family trees of all the clans, and next to each name he had a date of when they’d been killed.” He looked up then, eyes saddened. “Loth had already been dead for four months.”

Gwaine’s eyes darkened. He nodded minutely. “I see.”

“But… I don’t remember it mentioning a wife or child,” Balinor murmured, his brow furling as he tried to think back. “That’s probably how you and your mother escaped Uther’s notice.”

Gwaine wryly smirked. Just a bit. “I owe my life to poor record keeping?”

“It would seem so. Of course, you were born after the Purge began – I imagine no one would have willingly told Uther of your birth.”

Gwaine was quiet for a moment, before he asked, “Did you ever meet my mother?”

“Just once,” Balinor answered. “At the last Gathering of the Dragons. She was very kind, if I recall. And had a laugh that you could hear from across the room. Loth looked at her like she had put all the stars in the sky. I remember that.” Balinor looked up at Gwaine then, and noticed his eyes were dark and saddened. He could probably guess Gwaine’s answer to his next question, “Where’s your mother now?”

“Dead,” Gwaine answered, not looking away from the fire. His gaze dropped, eyes clouding further. “Sickness.”

Balinor’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”

Gwaine took in a breath. He straightened and tried for a wry smirk, but it was clearly forced. “It’s been a few years. I’m used to it.

“But… _looked at her like she put all the stars in the sky._ Did you ever have anyone like that?”

“Once, a long time ago,” Balinor answered. “I still think of her every day.”

“What happened to her?”

“Uther’s men were after me,” Balinor explained. “Leaving her was the only way I knew I could keep her safe. It’s only luck they haven’t found me yet. I simply hope that she’s happy, wherever she is now.”

Balinor suddenly felt very raw and exposed. Not wanting to say anything further that night, Balinor cleared his throat and stood.

“Get some rest, Gwaine,” he said. “We can speak more in the morning.”

Gwaine didn’t move for a moment, but then he nodded to himself. “Alright,” he said quietly. He pushed himself to a stand. “Where should-?”

“There are spare furs over there,” Balinor said, gesturing to a far corner of the cave. “Take your pick and set-up wherever.”

Gwaine let out an amused breath. Within a minute he had selected an old fur and had laid it out close to the fire, and was pulling off his boots.

They were silent once more as both waited for sleep, both of them staring at the ceiling and thinking about all that had happened that day.

But when Gwaine spoke up again, his voice was so quiet Balinor almost thought he had imagined it.

“Balinor?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you. For helping me out back there.”

Balinor’s gaze softened. “It was no trouble. Just try not to anger any more ruffians in the future.”

Gwaine chuckled a bit. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

~

The place Gwaine had slept in was empty the next morning.

Balinor blinked at the spot for several moments, before he let out a low breath as his gaze saddened.

Gwaine said he was a traveler – a vagabond – after all, it shouldn’t have surprised him that he’d left.

Balinor let out a low breath.

He couldn’t deny his heart sinking in disappointment.

With a sigh, Balinor sat up. He pushed himself to a stand and made his way out of the cave, ready to greet the sun and the new day.

But then Balinor stopped in surprise.

Gwaine was sitting on a log just outside, staring out at the sunrise with his eyes dark – both in slight anger, yet also in grief. He didn’t turn to Balinor, but he did speak when Balinor stopped just beside him.

“My mother never told me.”

“She probably saw no reason to,” Balinor responded, taking a seat by Gwaine. “All the dragons were dead, and you said you never showed signs of magic. She already lost her husband and brother to the purge… I think she would have done everything to not lose her son as well.”

“… she told me he died in a battle. That he was just a knight,” Gwaine said. “She told me Caerleon refused her his pension, and that’s why we were in poverty.” Gwaine let out a low breath, before leaning forward and resting with his elbows on his knees. “And now I have no way of knowing how much of that is true.

“She’s been gone for six years now; I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen. Maybe she would have told me once I was older… but we’ll never know, will we?”

Balinor didn’t respond to that.

The two of them fell into a silence then, both of them staring at the sun as it rose and the sky turned to light blue.

But Gwaine broke the silence after several minutes.

“I expect you want me to leave, don’t you? You’ve talked, and I’ve listened. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re sick of me already.”

Balinor’s gaze softened. “You’re my kin, Gwaine. I’m not abandoning you.”

Gwaine turned to Balinor, expression bemused. “Kin?”

Balinor chuckled. “All Dragonlords refer to each other as _kin,_ even if they share no blood. We even refer to the dragons as our kin.”

Gwaine blinked. He let out a small chuckle. “I’m _kin_ with a dragon, imagine that.”

“If you’d like to stay, you have a place here. But if you want to leave, then I simply wish you well on your journey. You can do whatever you would like.”

Gwaine didn’t move for a moment, and Balinor could see his brow crease a bit as he thought.

Then Gwaine looked up. His lip quirked into something that was almost a smirk. “I think I might stay. I know nothing about being a Dragonlord after all, and who better to help me learn?”

Balinor smiled a bit. He put his hand to Gwaine’s shoulder. “I’ll be glad to help you.”

Gwaine smiled too – the most genuine one Balinor had seem from him. But then it turned to a cheeky grin. “Right.” Gwaine stood. “But, first things first.”

Balinor had to contain a groan. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “What is it?”

“We are getting you some new furs to sleep on, because the one you lent me last night was itchy as hell and I am _not_ sleeping on it again. And then we need to do something about your food situation -”

Gwaine continued on, already heading off and explaining his plans to Balinor.

Balinor blinked after Gwaine as he headed back towards the cave.

But then he let out an amused breath and something akin to a smile crossed his face.

For the first time in twenty years, Balinor no longer felt the burden of being the Last.

And Gwaine was right, after all: he did need some new furs.


End file.
